


You've Heard It A Thousand Times

by mind_and_malady



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Season/Series 05, Temporary Character Death, The Apocalypse is happening very quietly in the background, angry possessive archangels are possessive and angry, dream walking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4251828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/mind_and_malady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam isn't scared of the Devil. He really, really should be.</p><p>(Or: Yet another fic where Lucifer Finds Love and Sam Loses His Shit)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fear

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't finished writing this. It comes in for a scene, skips a while, and speaks broadly. I don't know if any of you are willing to jump for that, but hey. Feel free to leave if you aren't.  
> This is mostly me pushing myself to see how long I can put off sex scenes to write a thing that vaguely resembles a plot. Also to use italics as infrequently as possible.
> 
> Enjoy?

Fear is an animal. Sam knows this, has known it since before he’d had the faintest idea of what lived in the dark. It’s a vicious, oppressive thing that takes so many forms. A boa constrictor, crushing the air from his lungs and forcing him shocked and still. A beast with claws and teeth that draws out screams and blood and violence, leaves him scarred. Fear is a familiar monster, the very first one he’d ever known.

And for some godforsaken reason, it isn’t here.

It should be. No one could judge Sam for being absolutely terrified right now, with Lucifer sitting at a table across the room while he leans against a wall. But he isn’t even remotely close to scared. He’s angry, he’s goddamn _furious_ at how still and calm and patient this angel is, but he isn’t afraid of Lucifer.

 _I will never hurt you_ , he’d said. The Devil has looked him in the eye and promised him that much, and Sam knows he meant it. He doesn’t have a clue how, but he knows. There’s no malice in Lucifer for Sam - there’s plenty for Michael, for humanity in general, a little for Dean - but there are no threats, no ominous silences, nothing at all for Sam. It’s not reassuring. Sam isn’t sure Lucifer understands what it means to hurt someone. Physically, he knows, knows that violence will cause pain, and that insults and mockery and guilt would hurt Sam’s psyche. But Sam doesn’t think he understands how it will hurt him if the world ends, if his friends die.

Whatever. Sam isn’t going to explain it to him. There’s no point. Lucifer will just smirk at him, hands folded in front of him, relaxed in his chair, until Sam finishes talking and will then go on to say how that isn’t really how it has to go and _you know that Sam, don’t you?_

Sam’s given up trying to talk to him. He moves around the same generic motel room every night, slowly pacing the room over and over again while Lucifer alternates between watching him and talking. Occasionally, Sam will offer a quip, or a quiet comment, but Lucifer has driven him to almost complete silence.

His nights now are spent with frustration and a sense of helplessness. His hands are tied here. There’s no escape, no place to go. He’s trapped, captive in his own head.

Sam’s going to lose his mind in here.

 

 


	2. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam. Stop this. What are you doing.  
> Also - Lucifer refuses to cooperate with me. He is an asshole to write, mostly because he is, in fact, an asshole with everyone who isn't Sam, and even with Sam, he's still a bit of an ass.
> 
> I've written the next chapter, but that will come later. I'm not happy with it.

Lucifer is quiet tonight. He hasn’t said a word beyond a quiet “Hello, Sam.” It’s bizarre - and honestly, a little worrying - to see Lucifer simply reclining in his shitty wooden chair, hands folded in front of him, looking decidedly pleased with everything.

Sam isn’t a complete moron. Seeing the Devil pleased is something that sets alarm bells ringing in his head. He wonders what the latest disaster will be - a freak hurricane in the Gulf, or an F5 tornado in the Midwest, perhaps? Or maybe it was something worse - maybe he was closing in on their location. Maybe he’d found Cas.

He turns away from those thoughts, feeling sick and more than a little dizzy. No. No that must be wrong. If Lucifer had found Castiel, there would be wry comments and teasing hints, the only sort of gloating that Sam had ever seen Lucifer partake in. They’re fine.

Sam decides to have Dean call Cas tomorrow, just to check on him.

Lucifer laughs under his breath, dry and amused at nothing. Sam’s gotten good at ignoring any sound coming out of Lucifer’s mouth, but the silence has thrown him off, and his head swivels toward him. Lucifer is watching him, smirking. His legs are crossed now, body angled towards the spot where Sam is pacing a hole in the carpet, hands clasped in his lap.

“What?” Sam snaps, and then clenches his jaw shut. _Don’t ask him anything._

Lucifer rises from his chair, and Sam stops pacing, faces him with hands clenched into fists by his side. He stops a little less than an arm’s length away, just within reach.

“You’re angry with me,” Lucifer observes, like this is something new. “Why?”

“Why d'you think?” Sam almost shouts the words, but thinks better of it, just half-snarls them instead.

Lucifer blinks, and then smirks at him. “I think it’s because you want what I’m offering you. You want the power, the leadership - you want to be connected to someone who understands you. But your brother holds you back, and you can’t let yourself be angry at him. So you turn on me, and I become the target instead.”

Sam stares for a long moment or two, and then he laughs. It’s cruel, bitter laughter. “You couldn’t be more wrong if you tried.”

Lucifer’s smirk drops into a glower. “Then explain it to me.”

 _Just this once_ , Sam thinks.

“I’m angry at you because you’re killing hundreds of innocent people,” he says about as flatly as he can manage. “I’m angry because you’ve killed people I love. I’m furious because you _wore her face_ and fucking _defiled_ her memory without so much as blinking, because you want to kill my brother, because you can’t seem to grasp that your _destiny_ ,” he spits, vitriol thick in his voice, the words flowing easily now, “is a load of bullshit. Humans make choices all the time - we can be influenced but we make choices, and where we end up is our own goddamn faults. We take responsibility for that. But _you_ , you and all the rest of the angels, you pull that Divine Plan card every time you make a choice. Honestly, I expected a little more personal responsibility from the guy who invented Free fucking Will, but I guess not. You’re just as happy to pin everything on God and call it ineffable.” He laughs once, bitterly.

It’s the most Sam’s ever said to Lucifer in one sitting. Lucifer seems taken aback, surprise written plainly on his face. “Sam, that’s not true  -” he starts, and Sam shakes his head.

“Add that to the list, too,” he says bitingly. “Invalidating me. Yeah, that’s a _great_ way to gain someone’s trust and loyalty. Make me feel like my opinions and thoughts are complete absurd, that is _such_ a great idea.”

Lucifer looks almost dumbfounded by the sarcasm. He studies Sam for several long moments while Sam gets his shit back together enough that he can start asking himself what the fuck he was thinking.

“I didn’t realize how much I’d upset you,” Lucifer says, and that just somehow makes it worse. Sam doesn’t say anything, just crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s waiting for, knows better than to expect something like an apology, but he wants a response.

“Sam,” Lucifer starts again, and now there’s a small furrow in his brow, a frown tilting at the corners of his mouth. “Destiny isn’t as simple as you seem to think it is. God is omniscient. It’s not that choices are unimportant, He simply knows already what will be chosen. That’s why everything that has happened, must happen. It was always going to be like this. We were always going to end up here.”

“Bullshit,” Sam snaps, digs his fingers into the meat of his arms. “There are a million different things that could go different based on the slightest decision, and you know what? Your grand plan has already been derailed. Dean should hate me, I should hate him, we both should have become vessels as soon as we were asked. The world should be a crisp right about now, and yet, _somehow_ , it’s still standing. If God knows all then why didn’t he leave this as part of the plan? Why not mention that Dean and I will _never_ let you in? Isn't our denial of you a fucking sign that this isn't supposed to happen? How can you be sure? Can’t God change His fucking mind and decide that the Apocalypse is shit?”

“If He has He certainly hasn’t told anyone,” Lucifer says shortly, glaring balefully at Sam.

Part of Sam rejoices in the fact that he’s agitating Lucifer. The other part is horrified that he’s let his tongue get away from him like this. What the hell is he thinking?

“Maybe He shouldn’t have to,” Sam says, because he can’t leave the only argument he’s going to let himself have with Lucifer about this go by without trying to convince him. “Maybe He was hoping that you or Michael or both of you would come to realize that this isn’t what you want to do.”

And now Lucifer is very quiet and very still, rage heavy in his eyes. Sam takes a slow breath, and before anyone can say anything else, he wakes up.


	3. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is practically the same as the last chapter, except Sam is less angry and more of a disappointed parent. Except not, because he never had any expectations of Lucifer, but still. My point stands.

Sam goes back to being quiet. He paces under Lucifer’s watchful eyes, the room utterly silent beyond his footsteps.

The silence is oppressive. It eats at him, gnaws hungrily on the bones of Sam’s speech and presents the demand for more. The longer it goes ignored, the louder it grows, until the silence is howling in Sam’s ears and he can’t take it, can’t stand it a second longer.

He does what he can to avoid it. He researches through the night, trades normal coffee for triple-shot whatevers. He doesn’t complain about the loud music in the car, reads his way through what they know about the next hunt and starts to dig up information before they even get there. He keeps himself as busy as he can, doesn’t rest.

Dean notices. Damn him, of course he noticed. He brought Sam coffee that was clearly not what Sam had asked for ( _De_ _caf frappe thingy, right?_ Sam nearly clocked him) and picked a hunt clear on the other side of the country. When they started driving, he turned on a soft rock station, kept it low, and hummed along.

Sam realizes he’s laying on the bed in the motel room instead of the passenger seat, that silence laying like a thick, angry cloud in the air, and curls in on himself a little. He can feel Lucifer’s disapproving eyes on him.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Sharp. Accusatory. The first words he’s spoken since Sam had finished his stupid speech, and he's acting like he has a right to be angry.

Sam sits up, runs a hand through his hair. He nods once, and tucks his feet under himself. He doesn’t want to pace tonight. He just wants to rest and have the world be quiet without wringing his neck. He's too tired to be properly angry.

“How?”

Lucifer genuinely doesn’t seem to understand. Sam looks up, meets his eyes. There’s anger there, hard and real, but confusion, curiosity as well. Sam still isn’t afraid of him, despite the anger. Fuck even knows why he isn’t. He really, really should be, but it just...isn’t there. So he ends up being too honest again.

“I didn’t sleep.”

Lucifer’s eyebrows hitch up, and then furrow. “You need to sleep, Sam.”

“Dean agrees with you,” Sam mutters, leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees. “I don’t. Humans can survive for almost a week without sleep. Longer if they’re really determined.”

Now he’s scowling. “Is that your plan, then? Nearly kill yourself with exhaustion to avoid me? I won’t let any harm come to you, Sam, even if I have to protect you from yourself.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” he sighs. There's a bitter twist to his voice.

“Then explain it to me,” Lucifer says for the second time.

“Cause that ended so well last time.”

Lucifer is suddenly beside Sam on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. “You don’t seem to be as upset tonight. I think it might go better.” When Sam remains silent, Lucifer sighs. “Sam. Tell me what it means. I’ve never wanted to hurt you, Sam. Never. I’ve only ever wanted you to live up to your capabilities.”

Sam looks up. Lucifer is within inches of him, his brow still furrowed, a frown etched into his mouth. He holds Sam’s eyes, patience born of practice keeping him still and quiet as he waits for Sam to make a move. Sam doesn’t want to have this conversation, he really doesn’t. But he doesn’t feel like he has much of a choice. Someone has to explain this to Lucifer, after all. It may as well be him.

“Who do you care about?” Sam asks, just to test the water, see if he’s starting in the right direction.

Lucifer tilts his head slightly, expression going slack in surprise. “You, of course.”

Sam huffs a little, shakes his head. “Anyone _else_?”

That earns him a raised eyebrow, and a slow shake of the head. “In a past life, I would say my siblings. But now…” Lucifer smiles, just barely. “Only you.”

Well shit. Okay. Sam is slightly overwhelmed by the enormity of that for a moment, but swallows, forces himself to nod a little. “Right. Okay. Well, let’s give an example here. Say you’re going about your business, I’m going about mine, things are fine. We’re both safe, sane, healthy - whatever. You get my point?”

Lucifer nods. Sam sits up a little, leans back slightly; he braces himself for whatever impact his words will have. “Now imagine that Michael comes down, burns me out, and drags me to Heaven, and you can’t get remotely close to me ever again.”

Lucifer’s expression closes off, hands curling into tight fists, eyes thunderous. “He would never,” Lucifer all but snarls the words.

“That’s besides the point. Why does that make you angry?”

Lucifer looks askance at Sam. “Because it would mean he _took you_. You’re my vessel, you’re -” Lucifer stops for a moment, hands tightening further until Sam fears his knuckles might break the skin. “I will not let him take you from me,” he finishes finally, and his voice shakes with anger.

“Again, that doesn’t matter. Imagine that you failed, and he took me,” Sam says, and rubs at his eyes. He can’t believe he’s doing this. “How would that make you feel, huh? Beyond the anger.”

Lucifer seems to consider it, and then shakes his head harshly. “No, no, I don’t -”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Sam asks him, and his voice is soft but there’s steeliness beneath it. “It hurts when someone you care about gets ripped away, and there’s nothing you can do except wallow in the knowledge that you’ll never see them again.”

“I don’t understand,” Lucifer says, frustrated now. “What does this have to do with -”

“My mother,” Sam says softly, and Lucifer’s mouth clicks shut. “Jess. All of the Special Children that were sent to Cold Oak. Ash. My father. _Dean_. I care about them, all of them, still. They were friends, family. Maybe you personally didn’t kill them, but they died to further your cause and that - that’s just as bad.” He lets that sit for a moment, lets Lucifer stare at him like he’s never seen him before, knows the silence is cruel and doesn’t care that he’s twisting this knife as far as he can. “And you wonder why I get so fucking angry with you,” he adds, with a short, scornful laugh.

Lucifer flinches, ever so slightly. “Sam. I didn’t know. I - _Sam,_ ” Lucifer repeats his name uselessly, utterly stuck.

Sam doesn’t have anything else to say. Not right now, not here. He’s tired, and even this simple explanation had utterly drained him. There’s a faint ache in his temples, an itch behind his eyes. His chest hurts.

He lays back on the bed and folds his hands over his stomach, unfolds his legs. He sighs as he closes his eyes, determined to just lay quietly on the bed and rest for the rest of the night. Lucifer stays next to him, immobile; Sam doesn’t even hear him breathing.

The dream drags on, and on, and on. Sam has a suspicion that Dean is following traffic laws for once to give him more time to sleep. He tries not to hope that he’ll be abruptly woken up by something, like Cas dropping in, or the impact as the Impala crashes into a tree. Those scenarios would be too lucky - if anything wakes him, it’ll probably be an impromptu attack by Zachariah.

The thought makes him laugh under his breath. The silence changes into something anticipatory, but Sam ignores it. He ignores it until even in his dream, the motel room begins to lighten.

“You’re sleeping late,” Lucifer notes. His voice is very carefully calm, the words just a light comment.

Sam blinks his eyes open. “Exhaustion does that,” he says, and frowns slightly. “I hope Dean didn’t drive all night.”

“Why?”

Sam cuts Lucifer a look as he sits up. “I think we already had the conversation about exhaustion,” he remarks, rolling his eyes.

Lucifer starts to respond, and Sam finally, blissfully, wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is fun to write. I'm enjoying it immensely.  
> Any one who bothers to read this garbage will hate me.


	4. Revival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weeeeee happy 4th of july. Or, 5th of july? its 2am. holidays are fun, especially when mixing caffeine and alcohol. fun times :D
> 
> i dont know for sure whats going on here. i needed lucifer to stop dream walking bc i want to start the "intro to humanity" portion of this even if lu still acts like a fucking dick

The realization that he has hurt Sam is more surprising than it should be. Lucifer is angry with himself for not thinking about how Sam would react to deaths - he should have considered that. Sam is beautiful and he cares so much; it was positively moronic of Lucifer to not think about it.

He can’t bring himself to regret it, however. The results still came out in his favor. He won’t apologize for it, has nothing to apologize for. He has never needed or wanted forgiveness for his actions. As much as he loves Sam, he will not stoop so low as to beg for absolution from a human, even one as stunning as his vessel.

His vessel. _Sam_. It’s a delight to think of him, to see him. He revels in the bottled flame of Sam’s soul when he meets with him. Though it barely holds a candle to an angel’s grace, compared to the rest of humanity, Sam is a supernova, an explosion of color and heat and light that wrecks everything around him. His soul is a beacon that screams that he is someone of note, someone worthy and proud and utterly irreplaceable, that he is in possession of a fate greater than every other human on the Earth. There is strength in his bones, his mind, a will that won’t be broken.

That will is causing him problems, but Lucifer refuses to break it. He wants to redirect that will so that Sam will come into his place of his own choice. Coercion or torture would make any _yes_ a surrender. Lucifer doesn’t want surrender. He wants a victory. He wants Sam to seek him out and wrap him in fire and consent, wants Sam to join with him as a true vessel should be joined with their angel, an unwavering bond. He wants Sam as he is, wants to be there as he becomes more under his own tutelage.

Lucifer walks about a motel room Sam had recently abandoned. Its inhabitants and manager are bloody stains throughout the building now, and this room is still untouched from when they had left it a week ago. He can see where Sam slept (or rather, did not sleep, and what a foolish move that was on his part) and where he had worked, eaten, laughed, lived. There are traces of Dean, too. He burns bright as well, but differently. Not a supernova, but a torch, guiding the way ahead. A leader. He acknowledges them only long enough to confirm that they can’t tell him where the hunters had gone.

Suddenly, he doesn’t need to look. He can feel Sam, knows where he is. For less than a second, he revels in it, in the warmth of his existence.

And then he feels Sam die.

Rage born of terror grips Lucifer tight and he flies as fast as he can push himself to where he had felt Sam, so fleeting and bright. _Imagine that you failed_ , Sam had said to him. That conversation has burned itself into his grace. As soon as Sam had said it he had vowed he would never, ever let Sam be taken from him, damn all the consequences. Merely thinking about it had shown him his limits where it came to Sam.

Michael hasn’t been here. It’s the first thing Lucifer notices as he closes in, and the relief he feels is palpable. In fact, there’s nothing here at all but a motel and some humans. He lands in the motel room to the startled cry of two hunters, holding shotguns. They’re standing over Sam’s corpse.

Dean is sitting on the other bed. His expression is full of a hate that Lucifer is familiar with, but it isn’t directed at him. Dean looks at him as though he isn’t there, and turns his black gaze on the two hunters, who are now pointing their guns at him.

It takes milliseconds for Lucifer to understand what had happened. They had been followed, attacked while sleeping. These cowards hadn’t been brave enough to face them head on, cowed by thoughts of what had happened to a hunter named Gordon Walker.

One of them fires his gun. It passes through Lucifer’s sternum, breaks his spine, and gets lodged in the muscle of his back. The other one aims for his eyes, and the bullet gets caught up in his cerebral cortex.

Lucifer shoves his hand clear through the first one’s chest without wasting a moment. He blinds the second by shoving his thumbs into his eyes and pulls his rib cage in half in the matter of a few moments. Then he turns to Sam.

“No!” The strangled shout barely registers, nor does the fist against his broken back and the sound of Dean’s hand breaking. He reaches out to heal Sam, drag his soul back from the reapers, and pauses when a blade tip touches his shoulder . “You sonuvabitch, you get the hell away from my fucking brother!”

“Dean,” Lucifer’s voice is scornful. “That can’t hurt me.”

“ _Get away from him!_ ”

“He is in Heaven, Dean,” Lucifer continues, and he grows louder. “He is my vessel and he is in _Heaven_. You understand the damage that can be inflicted on souls, and believe me when I tell you that angels are far crueler than demons. Would you like me to leave him up there where Zachariah can get his grubby fingers in him and tear him apart?”

He would do no such thing, of course, but it gets the message across. The blade falls away. Lucifer presses his hand against Sam’s chest, heals the wounds and rips Sam’s soul from the grasp of a terrified reaper. He cradles the supernova in his grace and gently returns him to his body, whole once more.

Lucifer leans back, thoughtlessly healing his vessel and dispelling the blood on his skin. Dean is on Sam’s other side, babbling, one hand gripping Sam’s shirt tightly, the other on his shoulder, pleading with his brother to open his eyes. Lucifer resists the urge to curl around Sam, to take him someplace that hunters and angels could never touch him and keep him to himself.

Sam opens his eyes with a gasp, jolting upright. He nearly knocks heads with Dean, but Dean just clings to him, wraps his arms around Sam’s shoulders like he’s scared Sam will vanish. Sam, disorientated and confused, manages to recognize that it’s Dean who is curling around him, holding him. He mirrors Dean’s pose, buries his head in Dean’s neck, and for a moment, Lucifer watches them just hold on to each other.

Then they separate, and Sam sees him. Dean seems to remember that he exists, and picks up the blade again. “Great. Sam’s alive and fully capable of being possessed again. Get the fuck out,” he demands.

Lucifer quirks an eyebrow at him, but before he can say anything, Sam has a hand on his brother’s wrist. “Dean, stop, d’you really think that thing is gonna hurt him?” The disbelief is apparent in Sam’s voice. Dean’s whole expression twists in distaste, and Lucifer smirks, just a little, as he glares at Sam.

“Oh, so what, you’re happy to have him sit here with you? You guys’re buddies now, is that it?”

“Fucking hell, Dean. No. Of course not.” Sam’s scowling right back at him. “Get your goddamn head out of your ass. He’s here already, we can’t kill him -”

“We could banish him -”

“There isn’t a sigil strong enough to banish an archangel,” Lucifer offers casually, and brings his knee up onto the bed. It rests against Sam’s through the blanket.

Dean glares at him as though he thinks he can vaporize Lucifer with his eyes. The thought is thoroughly amusing, and honestly, he doesn’t feel threatened in the slightest by Dean’s hostility. He feels almost giddy, in fact. He’s in Sam’s physical presence for the first time since his release, Sam isn’t staring at him with outright hate, and he _saved him_. He didn’t fail.

Sam rolls his eyes. “He isn’t going to hurt you, Dean, and he isn’t going to hurt me. We’re going to have to deal with him.”

Dean turns a disbelieving eye on Sam. “You’re weirdly okay with this.”

“I had more warning than you did.”

Lucifer tilts his head. “Oh really?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. There was -” he frowns. “There was somebody. Probably an angel, but given that he didn’t burn my eyes out, I’m not sure. He stopped the reaper and said you’d be here.” The frown deepens, and his brow furrows. “He apologized to me. Kept saying he was sorry, over and over.”

“Probably for inflicting this asshole on us,” Dean snorts.

Lucifer meets his eyes coolly. His patience is growing thin - Dean reminds him too much of Michael. “This asshole is perfectly capable of taking Sam and leaving you here,” he remarks, quite casually.

“Don’t you fucking dare! I swear to God, I’ll -”

“You’ll what, Dean? Kill me? You’d have to say yes to Michael to do that.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Sam demands, voice hot and angry. He turns sharp eyes on Lucifer. “You won’t be taking me anywhere. I will kill myself first, do you understand? I don’t care if I have to bite through my veins, I will kill myself. You aren’t taking me.”

Lucifer blinks. He’s being serious. He means every word. That - that _hurts_ , actually. But he appreciates the honesty, even if the concept of Sam committing suicide is utterly repulsive. So he smiles slightly, nods, and Sam turns on Dean.

“Dean,” he starts, and he’s quieter now, but his tone is still lined with steel. “We’re going to have to deal with him. We can’t fight him, we can’t do jack shit unless you want to call Zachariah and have him bring down Michael for the final battle, here and now.”

Dean scowls at the bed Sam is still sitting in, but then he sighs, nods. “Fine. He isn’t riding with us, though. The Devil is not allowed in my baby. Not in a million fucking years. We clear?”

“As crystal,” Sam agrees, and they both nod. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

They peel out of the motel a handful of minutes later like the have the Devil on their asses. And, well, they sort of do, don’t they? Lucifer sits invisibly on top of the car as it races away. For a human, pushing one hundred miles an hour is an unbelievable rush. For Lucifer, the wind may as well be a lazy river; he used to race tachyons for fun.

When Sam falls asleep in the car, he doesn’t follow him into the dream. He lets him sleep undisturbed for the first time in months, and instead listens to the worried thrum of Dean’s thoughts. As Lucifer listens, it becomes more apparent why Sam disbelieves in their destiny.

Dean won’t say yes to Michael. It isn’t even a possibility. They’re very similar, but the few differences are the most important. Michael was loyal to their Father, loved him unconditionally. Dean loved John, but he feared him too. And though they both loved their little brothers, Dean was the one who had given Sam his unconditional loyalty as well.

Maybe they could get along eventually, Lucifer muses as they ride. For Sam’s sake.

 


End file.
